Haitch [Hay-ch] (noun)-- a naturally occurring, tea-drinking, wine-loving, filth-writing, baby-delivering, sweet-talking, reprehensible young woman. Wordsmith. Thing that bites. My husband's eldritch horror.
No big rule list.
You can request anything, and I may judge you for it, but I simply won't write it if I don't like it. If I don't like it, I'll delete the ask and move on-- no offence intended.
Inbox always open. DM me if you like! I'm friendly, I don't bite, and I'll even message back. You lucky bug.
If it's my husband you're looking for, feel free to bother him at @mrhaitch .
If you've sent me an Agony Aunt Asks, I've started to collate the answers in a new Masterlist; they'll be tagged as #Agony Aunt Haitch for filtering purposesâđ» and my usual Asks will be under #Pseudowho Answers You
Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlists
Nanami Kento Masterlist, Part One Updated 12th October 2024
Nanami Kento Masterlist, Part Two Updated 12th August 2025
Papamin Masterlist Updated 20th February 2026
Salaryman Nanami Masterlist Updated ???
Higuruma Hiromi Masterlist Updated 5th March 2026
Suguru Geto Masterlist Updated 23rd February 2024
Gojo Satoru Masterlist *coming soon*
Aoi Todo Masterlist Updated 23rd January 2024
Choso Kamo Masterlist Updated 4th April 2024
Multi-fics/Other Characters Updated 21st October 2024
KNY/Demon Slayer Masterlists
Sanemi Shinazugawa Masterlist Updated 13th July 2024
BNHA/My Hero Academia Masterlists
Aizawa Shouta Masterlist Updated 4th August 2024
All Might/Yagi Toshinori Masterlist
Updated 31st July 2024
Bakugou Katsuki Masterlist Updated 26th October 2024
ORIGINAL MASTERLIST LINK, HERE
[dividers by @cafekitsune]
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Notice: please consider this blog now archived, either temporarily or permanently.
With life pulling me in so many directions, it feels only right to lay down my pen, and let this blog have a good, solid rest.
Thank you to everyone for your utterly unwavering support and laughter at a time in my life where I needed to discover something new about myself. It has been an absolute fucking blast, and I'm privileged to have engaged with every single one of you.
For now, so long and take care; I hope that whatever I have written that has brought you comfort or laughter can remain here to be read time and time again.
Probably the last sign off, until life throws me back,
Do you selfship? If so then I have to assume it's with Nanami and Higuruma. IF SO, what are your selfship headcanons?
I don't selfship actually, no! But it's not because I have any sort of negative opinions over it, and no shade to anyone who does self ship.
You enjoy yourselves. Live your best lives. Get cute art, etc etc. Writing, for me, is more for love of the craft over the content; I take pleasure from eliciting the emotional response from readers that I've aimed to elicit. I take pleasure in controlling the pacing and narrative and dialogue to tell the story I want.
But, feel free to 'selfship' me with them in the comments. The funnier the better.
so there is ongoing and nonstop infighting in the nana, higu, kusahigu, higunana community. i know youre not a X/twitter girl but it did make me think of the issues you reported ages ago about clique activity and how people treat people online, and i think its proabably the same group. hoping youre not getting any more shit from them! and tips please for being a part of ancommunity like this for the art even if the people are toxic please and thank you xxxxx
I'd like to say I'm surprised, but I can't say I am. While I've long since left that nonsense behind, I'm sorry you feel like you're stuck in the middle of it. First of all: do NOT lose your art! It is yours, and it is wonderful. Nobody can take that away from you.
So, regarding clique activity and the sharing of art online, remember that the value is in your art, and not the 'organised religion' of certain community groups.
You tend to find that in any fandom group, there are some horrid people, and some non-horrid people (the majority), and while you cannot stop the former from acting as they do (and nor should you expend your energy on doing so), you can alter if or how you interact with them, and how you emotionally respond to them.
You also tend to find that these groups share things in common:
- they always have to have a common enemy; if they've expelled one (usually unfairly ostracised) person, they will absolutely move onto the next, because their perception of themselves as the smartest, most bestest and righteous social justice warriors is reliant upon...
- ...always being either the Hero or the Victim in their own story. The sort of superior magnanimity they maintain (the 'above-it-all-ness' over the drama that they, themselves have created, and over people's legitimate emotional response to being bullied) will always make it seem, to the unaware reader, that this group/person must be in the right. In this way, feeling unhappy and outcast is an unwinnable fight. Walk away with your head held high, and continue sharing your art. You will find your people. The horrid ones are always the loudest, and so you will feel convinced that they are the majority, but they're not. Good people are everywhere.
- They are chronically online, even if they portray themselves as these people with such busy important external lives. You do get the impression that the community they have online forms the absolute majority of their human contact. While I'm absolutely not demeaning the importance or value of online interactions or communities (especially for those who are vulnerable, isolated, disabled, neurodivergent, etc.), you do get the impression that for a great many of those who are chronically online, it is their life. They tend to hyperbolise the significance of really quite inconsequential disagreements or differences. There is a lot of drama over, well...nothing. Just people having minor differences of opinion.
- There is a collective desperation to portray a certain image of oneself, even to the extent that the individuals in the group have utterly convinced themselves that they are the way they portray; usually, frankly, due to an inherent self-loathing that they must mask by portraying themselves as 'impressive' or 'influential' somewhere, because they likely don't feel so in real life, and wearing this mask is easier than accepting and working upon your faults.
- Virtue signalling everywhere!
- Much more aggressive insistence that they are a 'safe space', than actually being a safe space. In truth, actually much more fractious forced drama and casual gaslighting instead.
- Lots of people banding together over the pretence of being social justice warriors, and actually just being mean to people, because the individuals within the group have determined that 'mean girling' within a group is preferable to being out of the group. Real social rejection fears, steering the ship.
- And the final thing in common, is that you tend to notice that if there's ever 'drama', they're (strangely enough) always there. Again, they will portray that it's because they're the brave Hero or Victim, exposing people left-right-and-centre, like the brave and noble warriors that they are...except, the truth is, if you are the recurring variable in drama, you've probably got to stop and ask yourself: why is that?
So, my final advice: step back from any toxic community in any way you feel you need. Don't allow yourself to be pulled into giving an opinion on anyone else's drama. Always assess any 'drama'; if that same thing happened between people you were actually in the room with, how would you respond differently? And finally, don't allow yourself to be gaslighted, or to feel that your art isn't worth anything because the rhetoric is being controlled by toxic people.
Okay?
You know what, I've actually come to be quite fond of the phrase 'touch grass'; and not by means of an insult, or an attack. But because, really, taking a step outside of whatever you're in, and taking a breath of fresh air, really does help you to gain some perspective.
So in the most loving way: touch grass! If something feels wrong to you, talk to a trusted friend or someone who is entirely outside of any of the nonsense. Having a fresh perspective will likely get you to the point that I'm at; laughing it off, and in some ways, feeling a vague sort of pity and disgust towards people who make people feel small, for nothing.
I don't really spend any time worrying about this rubbish now, but I'll always provide insight or support to anyone who needs it. I'm sorry you had to reach out like this, but you are very welcome.
I have reminded your husband to say 'i love you' to you, your children and yalls loved ones
NOW
idk i just hope you guys let each know how much you love and cherish each other
Hi!
As a man who constantly makes his wife (me) and his babies feel loved and appreciated and adored, he was actually fairly insulted by this; even if your intentions are good, it's fairly assuming to project any feelings you have regarding men making their wives feel unappreciated, onto him.
I'm told incessantly how loved I am. It's always about my soul, and not my body. It's shown in gestures too; the solidity of always being there, and reliable. He's been through a rough patch lately, and it's taken a lot out of him. He recognises if he's ever let me down, and makes moves to fix it.
He really is an excellent man. Please always assume that to show us practical, emotional, and physical affection, is his baseline.
This isn't me being dearly horribly offended and self-righteous, so don't feel rejected; just a gentle reminder that I'm incredibly fortunate to have what a lot of women look for from a husband.
Our sons aren't fed any toxic masculinity. They have received an early and ongoing education in consent, how to love someone, expressing themselves emotionally, and more. They are hugged and kissed and played with just as much by him, as me.
Thank you for being concerned about us though. Rest assured, we're in good hands, and so is he.
"God, I love them so much," chokes my husband in the kitchen, where we hug surrounded by the noise of 3 fighting boys, 57 fires, screams of agony, the slow beep of a truck reversing and a radio playing in some unknown location in the house.
The ground trembled. Yuuji cried out in surprise, his eyes darting towards the window and Jujutsu High's torii gates, and how they wobbled. Nanami Kento, half-scarred and one-eyed and one-gloved, grumbled, shaking out his newspaper but not looking up.
SQUEAK!
rumblllll. Laughter, laughter, laughter.
"Nanami!" cried Yuuji, gripping the windowsill and leaning out in horror. "Nanami-- what the hell is that-- we've got to go--"
"It's nothing to worry about," grumbled Nanami, turning the page. "It's just Higuruma and Takaba. Again."
"What?!"
SQUEAK!
rumblllllll. A bark, harsh with irritation. A spray of earthdust and rubble, from somewhere beyond the winding path. Another bark. SQUEAK! rumblllll. Laughter, laughter, laughter.
"It's just Higuruma and Takaba," Nanami repeated, as the sorcerers in question burst through the dust; one laughing, and the other in hot pursuit, with a gavel, huge and rubber and colourful and--
...not a gavel.
SQUEAK!
An enormous, squeaky hammer. Red and yellow and garish and loud.
"TAKABA."
Laughter, laughter, laughter.
SQUEAK!
"TAKABA!"
Yuuji laughed into his hand. He cupped them around his mouth, yelling. "Run, Takaba!"
Higuruma Hiromi huffed, and puffed, and heaved the bucket up against his belly. He lifted with his back. Cold water slopped over his shirt, sticking it to his skin and trickling down beneath his boxers and belt. He shivered. He scoffed at the many-toothed creature that loitered behind him.
"Good god, can you-- can you not-- not help a bit?" Hiromi huffed. He tripped over stage rope and abandoned props, through the curtain-swag dark, towards the stage.
Judgeman, armless and silent, hovered along behind him. It must have sensed its dismissal, because by the time Hiromi had reached stage left, it had floated away behind a curtain and not come back.
Hiromi stepped onto the stage; but the stage was already occupied. Hiromi froze. Indignant fury, bitter petulant disappointment, and pearl-clutching affront washed through him.
There was a girl in his bath.
A girl.
A girl in his bath.
"Ah!" called Hiromi, walking faster now with his sloshing bucket, like a father who had caught his child mid-nonsense. You, halfway through sinking into the bath, looked up. "Ah! No, no, no, thank you very much! Not today, thank you!"
"I beg your pardon--"
"That, is my bath!" Hiromi huffed, grunting as he set the bucket down on the lip of the tub. "That is my bath, I think you will find, and I have been filling it for hours--"
"Not a chance, I've been eyeing this up for days, I've brought bubble bath and everything--"
"Well!" Hiromi sniped, pouring the cold water into the bath, and grimacing with grim satisfaction as you squealed. "Well! That's just too bad, isn't it, because it's mine--"
"I'm already in, so it's mine."
A laugh, hysterical and mirthless. "Oh, no, that's not how this works, sweetheart-- out, now-- get out--"
Splashes. Cries of outrage. Oofs. Roars of irritation.
Hiromi's top half was drenched. He scrabbled to haul you out of the bath; and failed. You proved a slippery customer, and slid around in his grasp like a freshly-oiled dolphin.
"For goodness' sa-- keep still!"
"Shan't."
"You fucking child--"
Splashes. Giggles. Huffs of laughter, tongue in cheek and sour.
Eventually, drenched and growling to himself, Hiromi straightened up. You smiled up at him, sitting pretty. He shook off his soaked sleeves. He looked at you, pink with outrage; and, perhaps, something else. Something different.
"Fine," he snapped, petulant again. Though you had at least removed your socks and shoes, he did not, and clambered into the other end of the bath as you preened at him. "Fine. Have it your way. Be quiet. Don't talk to me."
"I've got bath bombs. And wine."
"Now we're talking."
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
"...and so it comes to a point where it's no longer nihilism to say that the world is a cold and unjust place, and that nothing really matters, it's just miserable, hard fact--"
"Very hard to take you seriously when you're covered in bubbles."
The man you now knew as Higuruma Hiromi yanked on your bare foot, tickling it and pulling you towards him as you squealed. It was your turn with the one glass of wine, but he reached over and plucked it from your hand, draining it in one fell swoop.
You watched his Adam's apple bob. You shivered. He noticed. He draped your leg across his chest and shoulder, leaning his cheek into it with a sigh. His smile fell away, his face becoming hangdog and drawn again.
"It is a bit cold, isn't it?" he mumbled into your calf.
Your eyes softened. You sighed, and took a swig straight from the bottle, before leaning over and passing it to Hiromi. "The bath, or the world?"
"Both."
"The bath, yes. The world, I...I can't bring myself to condemn."
"Then you're a foo--"
"And neither can you."
Higuruma stilled. His grip on your leg tightened. You felt every strong fingertip, mapping constellations upon your calf. You continued, softer.
"And that's what makes this so hard. Because you keep waiting for the apathy to come, and it's not coming. However many people you kill, however you try to convince yourself that the Culling Game is 'full of possibilities', it's not coming. The truth remains; you see the human cost of this, and it eats you up inside."
Hiromi did not answer. He stared into some endless place past the curtains, where red and black mixed as one, until you could not tell where one ended and the other began.
"There is joy to be found," you whispered; even in the depths of despair, yourself. "And there will always be the need for someone to fight for the justice required, for joy to be possible. And, you're covered in bubbles, and drinking straight from the bottle, and--"
"--in the bath with a beautiful woman," Hiromi murmured. You fell silent. Heat bloomed in your cheeks; down your breasts, your belly, your thighs, and then upon the inside of your ankle, where his lips and nose did graze. When his lips began a slow, longing press, he paused. His eyes flicked over to you, reading. You did not stop him. His lips finished their press, hot and branding.
"I don't want to keep doing this," he admitted, parting your thighs to slide himself up and between them, into something of an embrace with his chin rested between your breasts. Your heart could have broken, with the shards of soul in his eyes.
"Not...not this," he clarified, gesturing wanly at you as you sniffled out a laugh. "But this. The...the murder. The bloodshed and...and violence. I don't know what I am. What I've become. Just a murderer, covered in-- in--"
"Sadness and bubbles."
"Sadness and bubbles, yes," he huffed, nosing at the spot between your breasts until you arched up into him. You did not need to talk; the consent implied and the touch electric, and his mouth found your collarbones, your neck, your cheeks, your mouth, kissing, groaning as he tasted you and you buried your fingers into his hair.
Still, Hiromi fretted, even as he twitched and groaned and precum spurted to mix with the waterlogged cloth between his legs.
"If-- if I feel this," Hiromi panted, grinding his aching cock at the crest of your thighs until you reached down and released him, to his hiss and bared teeth. "If I feel this, what else will I feel-- fuck--"
"Then feel it," you gasped, shuddering as his mouth closed around your nipple and sucked, tongue swiping, teeth scraping. "Feel it-- and if you start c-crying halfway through, that's fine, no judgement--" A laugh, deep and appreciative. "--that's fine-- kind of hot, honestly--"
Another laugh; this one, thicker. "Shit...alright. Stay with me, at-- at the end. In for a penny--"
His hand, long-fingered and deft, had just slid down towards your pussy, when the theatre door creaked open way up at the top of the stairs. You froze. So did Hiromi. He turned his head slowly, and you felt rage beginning to prickle along his shoulders, unbound, until--
"Er, are you Higuru...uh...erm--"
You could hear the peach-haired boy's blushes from all the way down on the stage. You buried your face into Hiromi's chest, stifling your laughter. Hiromi, still mercurial and high-voltage, was less amused.
"You're interrupting," he toned, low and deadly smooth. You felt the peach-haired boy tense. You cut it before it built.
"Hey," you whispered to Hiromi. "He's just a boy. Give him a chance."
Hiromi nosed at your ear, huffing a little. He stilled, and thought, then spoke up, barking up to the boy.
"Give me twenty minutes. Then come back. And I'll give you anything you want."
The boy froze. He looked baffled; sweetly so, as if it should be so easy. "Oh, uh...really?"
"Yes."
The boy scarpered. You turned back to Hiromi, and bit your lip. Hiromi grumbled, and reached down, and covered your hand that grasped his cock with his own, stroking himself with your grasp once, twice, three times, until he thickened and twitched and moaned.
"Right," he groaned, his fingers sliding down to press inside your pussy, readying you as you readied him. "Where were we?"
How long had it been since Higuruma last had a woman? He couldnât remember. His days as a defense attorney had been filled with never-ending work: gathering evidence, building cases, courtrooms and disappointment. Heâd barely had any time for himself, let alone a girlfriend. Love, and even sex, required a certain mindset that Higuruma just couldnât muster up, not when his mind was constantly weighed down by the faces of the people heâd been unable to help.
The ones he couldnât save.
But now, soaking in a tub with the ends of his hair curling from the damp heat, Higuruma says your name aloud â testing the shape of it in his mouth, teeth and tongue working each syllable and finding it pleasantly malleable, the sound of it echoing off the tiled walls to soothe his ears in a way he hadnât quite anticipated.
And he wonders what it would feel like to have you join him â here, in this bath. Wonders about the shape of you, bared and hot and slick under water, the weight of your body above him, skin to skin and nothing in between...
Warnings: MDNI (18+/adults only please)! Spoilers (manga & anime - some lines are direct quotes), allusions to depression and suicidal thoughts, brief mentions of exhibitionism, oral & vaginal sex, jealousy
Word Count: ~3.7K words
âIâm already someone who canât look you in the eye.â
Higuruma had told Yuji that exactly six months ago today, sitting by himself on concrete steps when the pink-haired boy â because that was what he was, really; a teenager who had been made to carry far too much for shoulders that young â approached him and asked, very sincerely, whether he had a death wish.
For volunteering to fight Sukuna.
It wouldâve been deserved, Higuruma had thought then, to die in that fight. Still thinks, though that line of thinking is very gradually declining in frequency. Higuruma Hiromi had killed. Taken the lives of others, mostly other sorcerers in the name of self-defence during the culling games, but the judge and prosecutor who had borne the brunt of his violence when his cursed powers first awoken took up a majority of his guilt.
The tension pulled too taunt when the string finally snapped somewhere in his soul.
When Higurumaâs hands found the gavel in that courtroom on that fated day, something dark and sinister and enormous compelling him to slam it down over and over again on the sounding block until all the accumulated discontent slid out from deep inside him to blot out the light, like a theatre when a movie is about to start.
Showtime.
Because wasnât that all that the courtroom was? A piece of theatre? Everyone in it a prop or actor reciting lines in a story that had already been written before anyone had even stepped foot in the room to hear the case?
Japanâs criminal justice system has a conviction rate of 99.9%.
âItâs always gone against my nature to leave things alone when I feel like theyâre wrong.â
âI just never managed to fix this habit.â
Wrong.
Higuruma was wrong.
He felt this deep within him with all the conviction he had channeled whenever he sought to defend people he truly believed innocent of the crimes theyâd been charged with. He, a lawyer possessing knowledge of the laws that were meant to uphold society, had blood on his hands, because what was the point when the law never actually protected the people they were put in place to protect?
The system, in which he had placed so much faith when he was younger and much more naĂŻve, had failed. Failed his clients. Failed him.
He had killed the judge and prosecutor in the case where his client, who had previously been found innocent of murder charges, was convicted during a retrial in which no new evidence had been brought forth.
Higuruma was a murderer. And, he would argue still, they had deserved it. His specific brand of guilt was not rooted in the deaths of two supposed innocents. Rather, it stemmed from the fact that, as someone who had very blatantly committed a crime, he would not be held accountable for it.
So now he was a man lost.
He knew the top brass had put in a pardon for him, had chosen not to prosecute him for his misdeeds. Higuruma was too valuable now to them as a jujutsu sorcerer, someone with the intelligence and innate talent to rival even Gojo Satoru himself. An asset who had essentially become untouchable.
Above the law.
It was laughable. The greatest irony of all.
So he had plucked the sunflower pin from his lapel, the one that had taken him years to earn the right to wear as an attorney, and placed it in the palm of his former colleague after she had declared her intent to continue prosecuting him on behalf of his victimsâ families.
âReturn this for me. And I hope you make a better attorney than I did.â
âHiguruma? Like sunflowers? What a great name!â
Tuesday, March 3, 20XX. 9:13 am.
The first time Higuruma Hiromi met you.
Briefing room with Ijichi sitting to your left and Ino on your right.
He has never seen a smile that bright before.
Bright enough to be incongruous with the world of jujutsu; with the world itself, as Higuruma knew it.
There was something in it that reminded him of Itadori Yuji, and he felt one corner of his lips lift a fraction in response â the feeling like the return of something so faraway it had almost been forgotten.
He had caught the rise of Ijichiâs brows before the man quickly schooled his features into one of stoic professionalism, handing out printouts from the folder that lay open on the table before him, coordinating details of the mission Higuruma had been assigned along with the other two sorcerers in the room.
Ino he had worked with a few times before, found the young man easy enough to get along with. He was always enthusiastic, often talking about Nanami Kento, a senpai he had looked up to and still held in great regard even after the man had been killed in action.
âYou know, you kinda remind me of him sometimes, Higuruma-san. I think the two of you wouldâve gotten along really well.â
Understanding the enormity of that comment, Higuruma had responded with a solemn nod.
But youâŠ
You were a new factor. A different variable.
Someone who, like him, had found yourself with newly-awakened powers during the culling games. A woman who had inadvertently stumbled upon Hakari Kinji and willingly offered up a portion of your points when you learned what it was they were trying to achieve. In return, the remaining members of Jujutsu High had sought you out after the dust of Sukuna had settled and strongly encouraged you to continue on as a jujutsu sorcerer.
âI couldnât really say no to Panda. I mean, have you seen him? Heâs just too cute! I guess thatâs why they brought him along when they asked me. Devious move.â You tapped a finger to your temple as you sat in the backseat with Higuruma, Ino riding shotgun beside Ijichi as the bespectacled man chauffeured the three of you to the mission site. âWhat about you, Higuruma-san? What theyâd bribe you with to stay in this crazy jujutsu world?â
He had paused then, suddenly conscious of his words in a way that wasnât entirely tied to the reasons for self-flagellation heâd been committing for months now.
He thought back to when the culling games first started, the country suddenly thrown into violent and bloody disarray; a veritable Battle Royale of kill or be killed. He shouldâve been horrified. Any normal human being wouldâve been.
But Higuruma Hiromi had long since stopped being normal.
Because finally, finally, here was a system that worked. A system that was honest in a way that the scaffolding meant to uphold the law wasnât. A system truly impartial to anything but objective evidence: that the strongest survive.
âHave you ever killed someone who ticked you off?â he had asked Yuji back when the boy first barged into the theatre, requesting that Higuruma relinquish his points to him. âIt feels much better than I expected.â
He thought about this then, sitting in the backseat of the moving car, sensing the patience radiating from you as well as something more shadowed lying in wait beneath the brightness of your words.
âI didnât really have a choice,â Higuruma finally replied, gaze finding his hands on his lap.
The pardon from the top brass. Their intention on recouping whatever loss theyâd incurred by his actions in the courtroom that day by working him to the bone as a jujutsu sorcerer.
Then he looked up, just in time for your eyes to lock with his for a moment longer than necessary. You nodded and didnât say anything more, which he appreciated, given the audience in the close confines of the car. But then your smile grew into something warmer, sympathetic â private in the way that a secret passes between two people who understand exactly what wasnât being said because both had lived through their own versions of darkness.
He discovered that he envied you then. The way you could still smile. The humanity that still clung to your aura like warmth nestled in the fibres of a wool coat.
And before he could think any further on it,
âWeâre here!â
Inoâs announcement â completely unnecessary given that Ijichi was clearly in the process of parking the black sedan â sliced through the moment. Higuruma quietly spooled back the thread of thought, tucking it away to be re-examined at a more convenient time and place.
Wednesday, March 4, 20XX. 10:25 pm.
âAhh.â
Higuruma let out a quiet sound of content as he stepped into the tub. Heâd deliberately drawn a warmer bath that night, and as he sank into the water, steam rose up in a cloud of humidity to temporarily obscure his view of the tiled walls. As the heat began to penetrate his stiff muscles, he closed his eyes and tried to quiet his mind, but to no avail.
He thought about the mission, about meeting you for the first time the day prior. Recalled how composed you had been throughout it all, coordinating seamlessly with both Ino and himself to exorcise a slew of curses in the abandoned hospital in Sendai. Remembered how his mouth had fallen open a fraction to witness your cursed technique in action; the sheer power and devastating precision of it all, which had undoubtedly given you a massive advantage during the culling games.
Higuruma finds it somewhat problematic, the way his thoughts keep tracking to you. And if he were a less honest man, he would tell himself that it was due to sheer novelty; the fact that you had only just entered his professional orbit. Because this was what it was, after all, wasnât it? He had been impressed with your skill, your efficiency. With the way you had delivered your report during the debriefing at Jujutsu High, words polished and intelligence glaringly obvious even at 7:30 in the morning.
Cupping his hands, he scoops up warm water and splashes it over his face, as if the act could bring clarity.
Because at the end of the day, Higuruma was an honest man. And right now, he found himself honestly curious about what your life had been like prior to the culling games: what you had done for a living, what you had studied in school. Whether youâd had a boyfriend or a husband, or maybe even a family of your own. He honestly tried to reconcile how someone so clearly capable of destruction as yourself could also be soâŠ
âŠso beautiful.
It was ridiculous, he knew. One could never judge hearts by appearances alone. He himself was the perfect example of this. And yet, Higuruma found that far from being put off by your lethality, he was drawn to it â the image of your smiling face overlapping with the gruesome way youâd dispatched the curses doing something to Higuruma that he hadnât felt in so long, it took him a while to name it:
Attraction.
Higuruma Hiromi was attracted to you.
How long had it been since he had last had a woman? He couldnât remember. His days as a defense attorney had been filled with never-ending work: gathering evidence, building cases, courtrooms and disappointment. Heâd barely had any time for himself, let alone a girlfriend. Love, and even sex, required a certain mindset that Higuruma just couldnât muster up, not when his mind was constantly weighed down by the faces of the people heâd been unable to help.
The ones he couldnât save.
But now, soaking in a tub with the ends of his hair curling from the damp heat, Higuruma says your name aloud â testing the shape of it in his mouth, teeth and tongue working each syllable and finding it pleasantly malleable, the sound of it echoing off the tiled walls to soothe his ears in a way he hadnât quite anticipated.
And he wonders what it would feel like to have you join him â here, in this bath. Wonders about the shape of you, bared and hot and slick under water, the weight of your body above him, skin to skin and nothing in between. In his mindâs eye, he is drawing you with the same meticulous care that he brought to his legal work, Higurumaâs considerable skills of observation automatic and working overtime even as he fought alongside you on the mission, subconscious filing away the curves that were only partially hinted at beneath your dark navy uniform.
He thinks about wrapping his arms around you, this spectre of his imagination. Thinks about where he would touch first: the rounded joints of your shoulders, the hollows just above the collarbone where hot water would pool. Or perhaps the gentle swell of your breasts, pliant as he kneads from their soft sides towards the middle, just so he could watch them heave beneath his fingers â pinching and teasing at your nipples to test how hard they would grow at his touch.
Hard, like the way Higuruma currently finds himself beneath the water.
âHmm.â
Sighing, he sets about traversing your body in his head, large hand reaching down until those long, tapered fingers are curling around his considerable girth to languidly stroke once, twice â mouth falling open wider as he inhales deeply at the contact, at the sensation of his palm reacquainting itself with his cock. And as he begins to build up to the pocket of a rhythm that makes him grow longer and thicker and harder, he wonders what you would do to him if youâd have him, whether that ruthlessness youâd displayed in the field would translate into something just as violent and necessary to completely unravel him behind closed doors.
Or not.
Because Higuruma Hiromi was not beyond taking you wherever and whenever youâd tell him to. And he knows this. Knows without a doubt that if youâd directed him to lay you out on the hood of a car and sink his face between your legs in broad daylight, he would do it, no hesitation. Even if Ino were there and Ijichi had still been buckled in the front seat, helpless behind the wheel.
âShitâ"
His breath catches as his hand picks up the pace, water sloshing over the sides of the tub when his body suddenly jerks upwards, undone by the mental image. He wonders what you would say to witness how quickly heâd kneel, perhaps chiding how careless he was to tear his dress pants on the sharp dig of the gravel beneath his knees. He would take it all in stride, anything to continue tasting you on his tongue, burying his face, his nose, deeper and deeper into your pussy just to drink you in, drunk on your juices.
And he would smile to feel the forceful pull of your fingers in his hair, driving him further into your body as if intent on swallowing him whole between the clench of your thighs. Would pant out how far gone he was for your flavour in between each deep dive â lips and tongue making a veritable mess of his face and your cunt, spit and arousal shiny on flesh that trembled in just the right way to make him your prisoner, Higuruma unable to do much else but press kiss after kiss to your slit, until youâre boneless and begging him to fuck you.
And god, how he wanted to fuck you.
To see you try to smile with all sincerity even with his cock in your mouth, the pink corners of your lips straining to contain him when he was hard and full, throbbing over the slippery surface of your wet tongue. He wondered if youâd look up at him with that same sweetness in your gaze as when youâd made that offbeat comment about his name and sunflowers, how youâd react when that voice in his head would inevitably grow louder, urging him to thrust farther and faster towards the back of your throat â how much more beautiful your eyes would appear when they began watering with the effort of taking him in.
Head falling back on the lip of the tub, Higuruma picks up his pace on instinct, squeezing hard around his cock, vaguely aware of the increasing intensity of the throbbing that pulses in the veins that snake along his length, ensuring that each pass of his hand teased at the sensitive spot just beneath the swell of his swollen head until the effect was enough to make his jaw clench, pressure building through his abdomen.
He thought of the way Ino had looked at you during the mission â the manâs expression filled with an awe that Higuruma was sure had mirrored his own when they saw you fight. Inoâs cheeks had been visibly pink when he finally lifted his face mask at the missionâs end, sidling up beside Higuruma to whisper, âIncredible, isnât she?â as if Higuruma didnât have eyes of his own.
Yes, you were incredible. Are incredible. And Higuruma Hiromi wanted you all to himself.
He could admit this now to himself in the privacy of this moment with nothing but water and steam around, stepping back to examine his feelings with all the rigour he usually reserved for court cases. It was ridiculous, he knew, to be jealous of Ino; to have been silently irked whenever you laughed at a joke the younger man made on the ride back to headquarters. Even more outlandish to have felt that tightness in his chest to see Ijichi smile when you had thanked him for taking care of the post-mission documentation.
Have I always been this jealous?
Higuruma could count the number of girlfriends he had had on one hand. And with each, he had, unfailingly, treated them with decency and respect, as should be expected. He had never been the type to feel the sting of insecurity whenever he witnessed them smiling or laughing in the presence of other men. Didnât get angry, didnât feel annoyed. He was self-possessed in a way that his friends and colleagues didnât understand, slapping him on the back with a chuckle as they made some comment about how they wished they could do the same.
People couldnât be owned. And to desire this was, in his mind, no different from wanting a puppet or a toy.
And yet.
Higuruma had known you for less than 48 hours. There was simply no rhyme or reason for him to feel soâŠsoâŠ
âŠpossessive.
In nearly every other aspect of his life, Higuruma Hiromi had always been a measured manâŠ
âŠuntil heâd gone off the rails after hitting his mid-thirties.
And perhaps it is the remnants of this breakdown that is the source of these thoughts, the ones that are spurring his cock to jump and twitch within his grip, precum spilling from his tip to immediately dissipate into the bathwater. Because Higuruma knows that he would relish the chance to fuck you before an audience, to drive the full, hard, hot length of him into you over and over again until his name is being torn from your throat in a clear reminder to all of exactly who was capable of reducing you to this debauchery, that a woman like you would only choose a man like him.
Yes, he would make it known.
Would throw your legs high over his shoulders just so he could bend over and fold you close, lips sealing tight upon yours to steal every breathless whimper that escapes every time his hips snap against your backside, the particular geometry of your body sheathing his cock like your pussy never meant to let it go. The pursuit of pleasure would be shameless; every tensed muscle, every wet sound, amplified in the lewd knowledge that they could watch but never touch.
Not you.
Not the way he could.
And when you come apart around him â wet heat squeezing in tight pulses, hands clinging to Higuruma like he is the only solid ground in a tilting world â he would follow suit, stilling the blistering rhythm of his lovemaking just for a fraction of a moment before he, too, arrives, spilling deep into your greedy body, your cunt begging for every last drop as each subsequent spasm milks him of all he had.
He would give it to you gladly, every last dropâ
âFuckâ!â
The word escapes in a hiss, barely formed when he finally comes, the cloudy haze of cum spilling from him in spurts that dilute in the bath water as if it were never there at all.
Like you were never here with him.
Inhaling on a trembling breath, Higuruma strokes himself a few more times, pressure precisely applied to ease the rest of his cum out. And as he does so, he allows himself one final image: his seed slowly leaking from between your folds, delicately swollen from the attention heâd lavished upon you with fingers, lips, tongue; the rhythm of him moving inside you to draw forth something that bordered on overwhelming â the specific alchemy of his body in the crucible of yours.
Higuruma sat for a few moments longer, water now lukewarm. He unplugged the drain. Washed himself again and let the water from the shower head beat upon his face.
Clarity, he thinks. Clarity is what he needs most when he sees you next.
So he could look you in the eye as a colleague, as a professional.
Not the man who had brought himself to ecstasy on thoughts of you after having spent just a handful of hours in your presence.
So that the next time you say his name and âsunflowersâ in the same breath, smiling like you were made of light, he could tell you,
Yes.
The seeds are being planted.
The garden is being tended to.
One flower at a time.
Iâm learning. Rebuilding.
And when the flowers finally bloom, when heâs finally done the work and earned the right, Higuruma will hand you a bouquet of sunflowers and say,
âI was wrong. But every day feels a little more right.â
âSo please, smile like that for me again.â
Thank you so much for reading and hope you enjoyed this piece! Please stay tuned for more writing to come and check out the masterpost! đđ
"Midnight Sun" is copyright 2026 Kintsukoi, all rights reserved. Please do not repost/modify/translate/plagiarize in any manner or on any platform.
